


Along These Dark Paths I Wander

by Murreleteer



Category: DC's Legends of Tomorrow (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Comfort Sex, Cuddling & Snuggling, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Healing Sex, Jossed, Multi, Recovery, Solitary Confinement, Touch-Starved, discussion of dubcon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-20
Updated: 2017-01-20
Packaged: 2018-09-18 19:45:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,226
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9400436
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Murreleteer/pseuds/Murreleteer
Summary: Rescuing Rip from the time pirates turned out to be the easy part, putting him back together after months of solitary confinement was a lot more difficult.





	

**Author's Note:**

> So yeah, this is Jossed by the trailers, which I figured it would be, so I'm calling it an AU.
> 
> The sex in this fic is all consensual, but some of the characters worry that it might not have been. Mostly it's just smut with a smattering of angst.
> 
> Originally written for a prompt over at the [DCTV Kink Meme](https://dctv-kinkmeme.dreamwidth.org).

Hunting time pirates was the one activity the whole team could agree was a good time, not least because it was generally done in space, which made Martin and therefore Jax happy.

This time, they'd come in fast and boarded guns blazing, leaving Firestorm as rearguard and fanning out through the pirates' time ship. It was bigger than the _Waverider_ , but had also gotten the crap beaten out of it more than once. Sara was with Mick, and noticed burn marks from a firefight, but no bodies. No sign of life either.

"This is creeping me out," Nate said over the comms, and Sara shushed him, but silently agreed. She liked it less by the minute.

"I found something," Amaya reported a moment later. "I'm in the cells, I think. They're just little holes."

"A prisoner?" Sara asked. She exchanged a look with Mick, and then turned back towards the branch where they'd split off from Ray and Amaya. "Is Ray with you?"

"No," Amaya sounded distracted. "I mean Ray's up ahead, and it is a prisoner. I think. At least one of the cells is active. I'm going to..."

Sara didn't bother telling Amaya to wait for back up, because the crew didn't listen to Captain Lance any more than they'd listened to Captain Hunter, and she didn't want to waste breath she could spend on running.

"There's definitely someone–Hey! Ow!"

She was already at a flat out sprint, Mick pounding at her heels, but Sara put her head down and just about flew around the last corner at the same time as Ray came back the other way. They damn near collided with each other, and with Amaya, who was glaring at a small hatchway, her hand cradled against her chest.

"He bit me!" she exclaimed, more offended than hurt, from the sound of it.

"There's someone in there?" Ray asked, appalled. Sara agreed there too. The hatch was only a couple of feet tall, and didn't seem to lead to much of a space. Dropping to a crouch and peering in, she could make out a space maybe five feet square and three high. The curled form of a body took a good part of it. It also reeked. "A little light?" she said to Ray, who aimed his suit's lights into the hole. Eyes gleamed out of the dark. "Hey," Sara said, thinking of her dad trying to talk an edgy perp, and trying to pitch her tone like that. "Hey. It's okay. We won't hurt you. The pirates are gone." She pushed Ray's arm up so he wasn't shining a light in the poor creature's eyes. "My name's..."

"Sara?" The voice sounded more like a croak than a word, but she knew it, so did Ray.

"Holy crap!"

Mick swore.

"What's going on?" Jax demanded over the comms.

"We..." Words almost failed Sara, and she had to take another breath before saying, "I think we found Rip."

"Careful," Amaya said, still nursing her hand, but Sara ignored her, dropping to her knees and reaching into the tiny cell.

"Rip," she said, no longer having to force gentleness into her voice. "Rip it's us. It's your crew. Come on, we'll get you out of here. Take my hands." His skin, when he grabbed her wrists, first one than the other, felt sandpapery, and she could feel the bones of his forearms. He'd always been a beanpole, but never this. She had to close her eyes and breathe for a moment before she pulled forward, rocking back on her heels as she did. Rip half crawled half pushed off the walls with his feet, doing his best to help. When he was fully into the corridor, he collapsed face first into Sara's lap and passed out, his breathing shallow but steady. He'd lost his jacket and belt, and Sara could see the bumps of his spine through his white button down. His hair was filthy and matted, and he'd clearly been in there a long time. Sara wanted to cry, but she bit her lip and said, "Mick, take him back to the _Waverider_. Nate and Amaya, you too."

"What are you going to do," Nate asked. He'd come in while Sara wasn't watching, which should have bothered her, but she couldn't bring herself to care.

"Ray and I are going to look for the ship's logs," she said. _And murder the hell out of any time pirates we find_ , she didn't have to add. "We need to know what happened here."

She shifted so that Mick could slide his arms under Rip. He grunted as he stood, but seemed to have no trouble carrying Rip curled against his chest. In two long, smooth strides Mick was gone, Nate and Amaya following.

"How long do you think..." Ray started, but Sara shook her head. She didn't want to think of Rip in that tiny cell for an hour, let alone...

"Come on," she said. "Mick and I were just about at the command centre a minute ago."

They backtracked, again, and found the command centre a minute later. Ray was able to dump the ship's logs onto some kind of high-tech flash drive, but Sara didn't do much more than watch his back. She couldn't get the feel of Rip's hands out of her mind. His hold on her hadn't been strong, but she could feel desperation in it. She could feel, too, Rip's ribs as she'd stroked his back. He'd shuddered under her touch.

"I'm good to go here," Ray said, and she nodded and led the way back to the _Waverider_. Onboard, Ray started to turn for the infirmary, but followed Sara when she headed forward instead. "What are you doing?"

Sara didn't answer until she was sitting in the pilot's chair, moving them away from the derelict pirate ship. "Blowing that thing to hell." She hit the weapons, targeting engines, then the command centre, then the belly along the port side, where the cells were. It didn't take long for the battered old ship to disintegrate into a fireball, first flaring out, then collapsing in on itself. She watched it until hard vacuum had consumed the last ember, then stood and brushed past Ray.

"Wow," was all Ray said.

Most of the rest of the crew were clustered around the door to the infirmary. "Gray kicked us all out," Jax said. "Said not to crowd him."

Sara nodded. "Good." The doors had barely closed behind her before she was asking for the damage report. She kept her eyes on Martin, knowing that if she looked at the figure on the medical couch, that she'd lose her cool.

Martin was sitting next to the couch, holding one of Rip's hands between both of his, and not appearing to do very much. He looked so heartbroken that for a moment Sara's breath caught, but Gideon answered where Martin had not, reading off a litany of malnutrition, dehydration, muscle atrophy, and general neglect.

"It seems as though Captain Hunter was there for some time." Martin's voice barely rose above a whisper, and Sara brushed a hand over his shoulder as she came to stand next to him, finally looking down.

Rip was so damn pale. Even through the grime and scruffy beard, she could see that his skin was ashy and his lips were cracked. His eyes were closed, but she could see movement below the lids, and his fingers twitched.

"What's he dreaming about?" she asked Gideon.

"Captain Hunter has instructed me not to answer that," the computer replied primly.

"Of course he did," Sara muttered. "Prognoses?" Gideon hesitated, and Sara wondered if they ought to drop into the twenty-sixth century or something and take Rip to a proper future hospital, one with more staff than an AI and a couple people with first aid training.

"It is within my capacity to heal him," Gideon said, finally. "I recommend keeping him unconscious until I have regenerated his joints and muscles."

"Fine," Sara said. "Do what you think is best." Her hand was still on Martin's shoulder, and she squeezed lightly. She started to say that she'd take over sitting with Rip, but realised that she should fill in the crew first. It sounded like they'd all need to take turns, at least the original crew, so that Rip would always have a familiar face nearby. And she wanted to know what had happened on that ship.

* * *

Sara sent Nate and Ray to sift through time pirates' logs, and sent Jax in to keep Martin company. Those two had a way of leaning on each other via their bond that didn't require words, and they all needed all the support they could get right now. For herself, she really, really wanted to beat something to a pulp, but at the moment there just wasn't anything to hit. She throw knives at a target until Mick came sniffing around, looking as restless as she felt.

He picked up one of the knifes and flipped it in his fingers before chucking at the board. It hit sideways and clattered to the floor. Mick grunted. "If I could set it on fire..." he grumbled.

Sara shoulder checked him on the way out. The knife thing wasn't doing much for her anyway, and she didn't know how to reassure Mick. The worst part of this whole captain gig was having to deal with a crew full of feelings, especially when she rarely knew what she herself felt about anything. Anything except Darhk, that was.

Ray and Nate had run into some kind of encryption, and hadn't got any info yet, so she swung back to the infirmary.

Jax was sitting across from Martin, resting a hand on Rip's wrist, and watching his face like he was trying to work something out. Martin was watching Jax, and Sara got the impression that she'd walked in on the middle of a conversation.

"His colour's better," she said, not commenting on the fresh flannel pyjamas.

"His vital signs are improving steadily, Captain," Gideon said when neither of the other two spoke up.

"He's not dreaming anymore," Sara noted. Rip seemed to be sleeping easily now, taking deep and steady breaths, and not twitching.

Martin made an equivocal noise, and Jax expanded, saying, "He gets upset when Grey lets go of his hand."

"I believe Captain Hunter prefers to maintain physical contact with the crew," Gideon added innocently, as though it were simple speculation, and no nightmares were being monitored by anyone.

It made all the sense in the world to Sara, but she wondered how the immensely self-contained Rip Hunter would deal with that when he became cognoscente enough to remember his dignity. "How much longer are you keeping him under?" she asked, and got a non-committal answer from Gideon, that basically came down to when the AI felt the time was right.

"Would it trouble you to take over hand holding?" Martin asked, and stood before she could say that the idea of just sitting here and thinking happy thoughts about whatever medical magic Gideon was working made her want to scratch her skin off. At times like this, Sara missed Kendra and her empathy. Rip stirred in his sleep and Sara quickly took his hand and slid into Martin's chair. Martin stretched, arching his back until it popped. "Thank you," he said. "I'm afraid my old bones couldn't take sitting much longer." Translation: he was even less comfortable with hand-holding than Sara was, and was using her as an excuse to flee for his lab.

"See if you can help Ray," she called after him.

Jax hadn't taken his hand off Rip's wrist, and Rip hadn't stirred. "Think he's going to be okay?" he asked.

Sara could only shake her head. No. She didn't. Not remotely. How could he be? This on top of everything else he'd lost? They'd be lucky if he could sting a sentence together, if he woke up at all. But then she remembered something Rip had said, almost a year ago now, when it seemed impossible that they'd ever dig Mick Rory out from under Chronos. "I think," she said, "that we will find that miracles abound on this old time ship."

"Yeah. I guess they do."

* * *

Ray came through on the flight logs an hour or so later, and they ended up gathering in medical so that everyone could hear without leaving Rip alone.

"It's not complete," Ray started. "Turns out time pirates don't keep great records, and we lost some stuff in the data transfer, so I'm filling in here and there, plus, I'm only ninety percent sure on the decryption..." Mick–leaning against the door–looked like he was considering if it was worth the effort to cross the room and smack Ray until he stopped prevaricating. "So..."

"Just do your best," Sara said, wondering again why'd they'd picked her to be the grown up. She was still holding Rip's hand, which felt a little softer than it had before, more filled out, if no less limp. "Anything could help."

"It's mostly call logs," Nate said, stepping in. "They grabbed Rip a couple months ago, then were trying to work out what to do with him. I think they were looking for us, actually, maybe trying to ransom him?" He glanced at Ray, who nodded.

"Then they were attacked by another faction, and ended up having to abandon ship, and well..."

"They just left him there." Sara said, bleakly, though she'd known it must have been something like that, from the shape the ship had been in if nothing else. "How long?"

Ray shrugged. "The time stamps were shaky at the end there, but ten days?"

"Maybe," Nate added.

They all considered that in silence for a moment. It was Amaya who, finally, said, "I would like to kill these pirates."

Mick grunted in agreement, before stomping out. Before she'd gotten this captain's gig, Sara would have followed him and forced him to share whatever cache of alcohol he was about to drown his emotions in, but now she just squeezed Rip's hand and gave Ray a significant look. Ray followed Mick, and the rest of the crew filed out.

Sara stared down at Rip. Jax or Martin had washed his face, but no one had wanted to deal with his hair until they could ask him, and he was still way too damn skinny. He needed a bath and endless mugs of soup, and never to be left alone again.

"I'm sorry," she said. "They made me Captain of this tub, so I guess this is my fault. We should have looked harder, found you sooner. God, I've missed you so much. We all have." Realising that she was going to start crying if she said anything else, Sara fell silent and dropped her head onto his shoulder, the flannel soft against her skin. If the medical couches were wide enough, she would have curled up next to him and rested her head on his chest to listen to his heart beat, for her own sake more than his.

* * *

When Sara woke up, Ray was sitting across from her, holding Rip's hand. "You were out for a couple hours there," he said before she could ask. "Figured you needed it."

She rolled her head and shoulders, cracking something free in her neck before saying, "Gideon?"

"I have finished the necessary internal regeneration. Captain Hunter may now revive."

"Should we get the others?" Ray asked.

"I don't want to overwhelm him." She didn't want to share him right now, either. "He won't know Nate and Amaya anyway."

Rip was already stirring, his hand moving in Sara's hold and his face tilting toward her voice. Gideon reduced the lights without being asked, and Rip's eyes fluttered.

"You're on the _Waverider_ ," Ray said, he was leaning in, holding Rips hand against his chest, and speaking softly in his ear. "We found you. You're okay."

With surprising force, Rip yanked his hand away from Ray, and Sara would have backed away to give him space, but he grabbed the collar of her jacket hard enough to half pull himself off the medical chair. His eyes were wide, not focusing properly, but his voice was clear enough. "Don't leave me!"

Sara had to quash the instinct to tear herself free, to get away before Rip pulled her down with him. She took his wrists and held them tightly, while her gaze met his until he was able to focus on her. "Never," she promised fiercely. "We'll never leave you, I swear, Rip. You're on the _Waverider_ , and we're all here."

As quickly as he'd risen, Rip slumped back, and Sara had to slide her arms around his shoulders to ease him down on the the couch. He kept one hand on her collar, but held it loosely now. He blinked, then licked his lips before saying in much more his usual tone. "I'm sorry, Miss Lance, I..." he trailed off. He seemed confused, and Sara wanted to ask Gideon if it was just the sedation wearing off, or what, but couldn't distract Rip when he was so obviously trying to pull himself together. Finally he just asked, "How long?"

"About three months," Sara said, still keeping her voice soft, though it made Rip narrow his eyes like he was trying to work out who she was. "For you, varying times for the rest of us. A couple months since we put the crew back together after we scattered.

"We're all fine," Ray added, "and we haven't completely screwed up the timeline. Saved it, a couple times, actually."

Rip nodded. "I'm sorry," he said again. "I don't seem to be myself. I'm sure..." he trailed off again. "I think if I had a shower, I'd feel better," he concluded.

"Gideon?" Sara asked. "Is that a good idea?"

"Yes, although Captain Hunter would require assistance," Gideon said.

"I've missed you, Gideon," Rip said, making her chirp.

Sara exchanged looks with Ray, who shrugged, then nodded. Between them they slid Rip to his feet and slung his arms over their shoulders. He was reasonably steady on his feet, but his arm curled around Sara's waist, warm and solid.

There was a decontamination room adjoining the infirmary that had a shower big enough for three. When then got there, Rip insisted that he would fine after that, pulled away, and would have fallen on his face if he Sara hadn't caught him. "Maybe, if you could..." he blushed and Sara finally gave into the urge to hug him. They rested there for a moment, with her face buried in tangled hair, and his fingers digging into her back as he clutched her jacket. She felt herself tearing up again, and focused on matching her breathing to his. "I didn't think I'd see you again," Rip whispered, and Sara squeezed him tighter.

Behind Rip, Ray had stripped down to his shorts, and was fussing with the water temperature. Sara could have stayed longer, but she made herself pull away and start unbuttoning Rip's pyjama shirt. He caught her wrist as she worked down past his sternum, not saying anything, but his eyes were wide and uncertain.

"Let us help you," Sara said. "It's okay."

He hesitated a moment more before nodding, and Sara finished his shirt and then quickly shrugged out of her jacket and pulled her blouse over her head. Somehow she managed to wiggle out of her jeans and kick off her boots while Rip was still bracing against her shoulder, and it all got a bit awkward until Ray drew them under the warm water and Rip sighed deeply and melted back against Ray.

Sara figured it was best to start at the neck and work down, and Rip didn't seem that interested in doing much. His skin was smooth under the soapy cloth, his muscles relaxed and pliant, and if Ray hadn't been holding him up, Rip would probably shortly be one with the puddle around the drain. She let her left hand trail along his skin following the cloth and he sighed again. He was holding onto Ray's arms, which were wrapped around his waist, knuckles whitening as he clung to his support, even though he was in no danger of falling. When Sara dropped to wash his hips and legs, Rip made a noise of protest, some of his old modesty recalled, so she steadied him as washed between his legs on his own.

He stayed leaning against Sara while Ray washed his back and then his hair. He was moaning, almost purring with each stroke of the cloth down his back, and his fingers convulsively dug into her upper arms as he held on. It felt natural when he kissed the side of her neck, and then her lips, his beard softened by the conditioner Ray had just rubbed into it, the whole shower fragrant of soap, damp cotton and clean skin. The water sliding down both their faces trickled between her lips as she parted them under his. His tongue touched her lower lip, and she clung to his hips and pressed against him.

As abruptly as he'd started, Rip froze. "I'm sorry." He pulled away and watched her face with the same anxious uncertainty that he'd shown before the shower. "I didn't mean to impose. I wasn't thinking. I just..."

"Don't be stupid, Rip," Sara told him, and kissed the corner of his mouth.

Behind them, Ray had stopped moving. When Sara caught his eye, he looked like he wanted nothing more than to join, but then he frowned, and started to draw back. He had that lost-puppy expression same as he had every other time he realised that he was inevitably going to get left out of something he wanted with his whole heart. Impulsively, Sara caught his biceps and pulled him back against them; at the same time, Rip took Ray's hand and placed it on top of Sara's on his hip.

She hadn't let herself think about it before, but all at once the warm water all around them, Rip's naked body leaning against hers and Ray right there, touching her, struck Sara so intensely that her breath caught. She kissed Rip again because she could, at the same time as Ray bent to kiss the back of Rip's neck. Rip moaned and threaded his hand into Sara's wet hair, pulling her close. Sara unhooked her sodden bra and shrugged it off so that she could press her breasts against Rip's chest. Ray dragged his nails lightly down her back until he could grab her ass and pull all three of them together. Rip was half hard between them, and Sara shimmied to rub herself against his cock. She was still lightly kissing him, their mouths playing against each other, touching and parting, then touching again.

"Please," he murmured, and Sara slid down his body to kneel in front of him again, pulling Rip's shorts down as she went. Rip didn't protest this time, but leaned against Ray as Ray's stroked his chest and kept kissing his neck and shoulders. Sara steadied herself against Rip's thighs before licking his cock. His hips jerked under her touch, and he moaned. "Please," he said again. "Sara, please."

She shoved her hair back out of her face, only to have strands wash back across her cheeks, and closed her eyes for a moment, resting her forehead on Rip's stomach, moving with Rip as he shifted against Ray so that Ray's cock slid forward between his thighs. "Okay," she said softly, and leaned in to kiss the base of Rip's cock. He gasped, and she kissed him again, this time on the other side, moving slowly and deliberately. Every time she touched him, Rip gasped and rocked back against Ray, which made Ray moan at first and then start to cry out. Sara pushed her undies down and slid her hand between her legs, stroking lightly as she took the uncut head of Rip's cock into her mouth.

Rip kept saying her name, mixed with Ray's and a jumbled string of entreaties. Sara circled her tongue around his head, making him grab her shoulder to steady himself as Ray went completely still while he tried to hold on to his control. Warm water ran over all three of them, easing the slide of Ray's cock between Rip's legs, and Sara's mouth as she swallowed more and more of him. Sara slid two fingers into her cunt, and rolled the knuckle of her thumb against her clit, making herself moan in pleasure, the vibration carrying through both men. She couldn't swallow all of Rip, but she sucked down as far as she could, digging her nails into his thigh as his cock head bumped the back of her mouth. Ray held Rip steady, so that he wouldn't thrust into her, but Ray's on hold was starting to crack as Rip's thigh muscles flexed and jerked under Sara's touch.

"I can't..." Ray said, and came between Rip's legs, his come splashing Sara's chest before washing away. His hips pushed Rip's forward, and Sara pulled back, rocking with each of Ray's thrusts and letting Rip sway between them. She curled her fingers inside herself and circled her thumb faster, matching pace to Ray's jerking hips and her tongue sweeping back and forth along the bottom of Rip's cock. Rip's fingers dug into her shoulder hard enough to bruise, and he'd stopped speaking, almost stopped breathing until his breath came in ragged pants. Ray was holding them both up, like a champion, and stoking Sara's hair at the same time. "It's okay," he told Rip. "You can let go."

That was all it took for Rip to come in Sara's mouth. His whole body froze as he did, and cried out incoherently. Sara sucked then spat, then sucked again, until Rip fell still in Ray's arms.

Sara was on a knife edge of not quite coming, but riding the upswing of an orgasm and wanting draw it out more than fall over the top, but it was too late. Ray slid down the wall, pulling Rip with him until they were all sitting on the floor. Rip leaned forward, nuzzling between her breasts, then taking a nipple between his lips, and Ray reached between them to cover her hand with his own, copying her movements as she stroked herself. Their hands were everywhere on her, stroking her back, her breasts, her thighs. Sara gasped as Ray's fingers pushed inside her, still on top of her own, stretching her. He kissed her over top of Rip's head, strangely tentative for all that they'd just done. It was that sweetness, and Rip's teeth scraping her nipple, and Ray's thumbnail brushing her clit that pushed her over the edge. Sara clenched her teeth so she wouldn't scream, and let them carry her away, their touches gentling, and easing her back down again.

"Jeeze," Ray said after a moment, and Sara laughed and hugged them both tight.

Gideon turned the water off.

"Hey!" Sara protested, just as Gideon informed them that she needed time to recycle the water, and that Captain Hunter needed to rest.

"Oh," Rip said. He sounded lost again, like he had when he'd woken up. He sat in the circle or Sara and Ray's arms, and didn't show any signs of moving. Which was fine with Sara, she had no idea what do do next.

It was Ray got them going again, pushing himself to his feet and pulling Rip up after him. "Let's get that beard under control," he said, guiding Rip to the bench. "I know mine drove me nuts when I was stuck in the Late Cretaceous Period."

Sara let Ray deal with towels and clippers and sorting Rip out, while she dried herself off, collected underwear from around the room, and wondered what the hell they were doing. It had felt so natural in the moment; they'd all moved on instinct, just trying to get as close and provide as much comfort as they could, but now... "Shit," she muttered, too quietly for anyone but Gideon to hear. Rip was foggy and needy, and they were taking advantage of him. What he needed, what they all needed, was a good night's sleep, and some sober second thought.

* * *

Rip knew that he should feel entirely revived being clean and shorn and most of all _home_ again, but as he let Ray pull him to his feet and lay a hand on the small of his back to guide him, Rip felt more disorientated than ever. The simple clarity, the joy, that he'd felt in the shower had passed as though it were just another vision of freedom dreamt from inside a pirate's cell, and it had left fog and weariness in its place.

Only when Ray tried to lead him back to the medical couch did Rip recall himself enough to protest. "I'm sure that Gideon can monitor me just as well in my quarters," he said. He didn't wheedle about sleeping in his own bed, not feeling it needed to be said, but Sara agreed readily, saying that Ray should take him. He tried to catch her hand as she rushed out of the infirmary, but she twisted away as though she hadn't seen him. She hadn't met his eyes since... Rip froze, and Ray almost pulled him over. Sara hadn't looked him in the eye since they'd all been on the floor together. "I didn't..." he said aloud, then stopped shaking his head. He'd kissed her, and she'd responded because she felt sorry for him, because she'd felt guilty for not rescuing him, as though she could have known where to look.

Ray's hold around his waist tightened. "You okay, Rip?"

Rip shook his head slightly. "Yes. Of course." Ray, at least, he thought had been interested on his own. He soaked up affection like a puppy, like Rip had never been able to bring himself to do, no matter how lonely he felt. "Just tired."

"I'll bet," Ray said, though he was watching Rip carefully. "Let's get you to bed."

"Yes," Rip said, sounding distant even to himself. He wanted to luxuriate in the warm glow of sex, and even more of affection, but they were fading already, and a nameless anxiety filled their place. By the time he reached his door, he knew he would not sleep even though his hands shook with fatigue.

As he stood on the threshold of a room he hadn't seen in months, Ray kissed his cheek then his lips, awkwardly and from the side, and asked if Rip wanted him to stay the night. "I got the trick of sleeping two to a bunk," he said.

"No," Rip told him, too sharp. He had to run a hand through his hair, which Ray had buzzed short, before could gather himself enough to soften and say, "Thank you, but I think I'll manage." Shrugging out of Ray's sideways embrace felt like peeling away sticking plaster in slow motion, but he didn't know what else to do.

"If you're..." Ray was saying as the door closed between them.

Rip had meant to change out of the pyjamas someone had manufactured for him into his old, worn sleep pants, but he found that once he sat on the edge of the bed he was too weary to stand again. He curled on his side, tugged a blanket half over himself, and, against all odds, slept.

He woke almost at once, heart pounding and brain not registering his own room. He stared blankly into a dark not dark enough to be his cell, and a hum of an engineroom too quiet to be that of the pirate ship, and his first thought was that they'd moved him. The pirates had moved him and he didn't know why, but he couldn't think of any benevolent reason.

Only after the lights came up did his memory of the past few hours come back to him: medical, Sara, Ray, the shower, what he'd done. Rip buried his face in his hands and lay curled that way for a long time. He tried to count breaths, as he had in the cell, but couldn't focus. He truly never would sleep now. Perhaps he should have stayed in the infirmary and let Gideon drug him into oblivion. But no, he couldn't allow himself to be that weak.

Restless, rose and left his quarters. He padded barefoot towards the kitchen, seeking a glass of water and whatever diet supplement Gideon was about to shove on him. Maybe that would settle this feeling of drifting, of looking in on himself from a parallel world.

Jax was there already, sitting on a couch that Rip hadn't seen before, staring at a football magazine but not appearing to read it. He started when he heard Rip, then grinned (a little too widely?) "Hey, how you feeling, man?"

"Better, thank you, Mr. Jackson," Rip said. "Though perhaps not quite up to snuff." He poured water and stirred in the capsule that Gideon dispensed, hands moving automatically as he watched Jax's profile out of the corner of his eye. Jax was in turn pretending not to stare by holding his magazine at an unlikely angle. "And you? How has everyone been?"

"It's had its ups and downs," Jax said, "You know, time travel. We're holding our own."

Rip sat on the couch, taking the cushion next to Jax, but not quite touching him as he folded his legs up under himself. He realised he was clutching the glass with both hands and made himself take a long drink then set it on the coffee table. "I do indeed," he said softly. "I've no doubt you've been exemplary."

Jax laughed. "I don't know if I'd say that." He leaned back and stretched his arms across the back of the couch. Rip tried not to watch. He thought of Ray's hands on his hips, his mouth on Sara's breasts, the images suddenly sharp. "Like the couch?" Jax asked, and Rip realised he'd been staring silently for some minutes. "Nate, the new guy, picked it up in the '80s. He thought he'd set up some kind of team movie night in here, but it never took off. Never could get more than two of us to agree on anything."

"Oh," Rip said. He knew that it was an opening to say something about how the crew hadn't changed, to banter, but he didn't want to trade jibes. He just wanted to... to sleep. He wanted to find somewhere safe, that couldn't possibly remind him of his cell, and sleep for days.

Rip leaned in towards Jax at the same moment as Jax slid his arm down from the back of the couch to circle Rip's shoulders. He ended up half curled against Jax's chest, with Jax's hand resting lightly on his hip. The worn cotton t-shirt was soft under his cheek, and he could feel Jax's heartbeat, a little fast, but steady and alive. Jax rested his head on Rip's freshly cropped hair, and sighed.

"You're not really okay," he said, and it wasn't a question, but Rip shook his head. "You gotta know that whatever we can do, we will."

There was nothing Rip could think to say to that. He squeezed his eyes shut and focused on the sound of Jax's heart, and moments later was asleep again.

This time, Rip woke gradually and far less disorientated, some time in the _Waverider's_ artificial daylight cycle, to the crunching of cereal behind him and an even heartbeat under his ear. Some time during the night, Jax had slid down to lie along the couch, and Rip had sprawled out on top of him. It wasn't a neat fit: Rip's legs curled against the opposite armrest, one Jax's leg's hung off the edge, and Rip's hand had gone asleep from the wrist down from where it was pinched between their bodies.

Jax was petting his hair absently, running his fingers back and forth through the brush cut Ray had given him, and when Rip turned to look at him, he met Jax's steady gaze. He'd clearly been watching Rip sleep for some time, but hadn't moved to evict him so that he himself could get up. "You doing okay?" Jax asked. On the other side of the couch, the crunching stopped.

"I..." Rip hesitated. He wanted to apologise, shrug it off, possibly flee, but he didn't want tell Jax that his first true rest in months hadn't been because of him. "A little, yes," he said finally, then couldn't think of anything else, or how to get up.

"Needing to touch someone ain't weird," Jax said, breaking the pause as it stretched into further awkwardness. "Not after what you've been through. We don't... none of us mind. We want to do whatever we can for you, man."

"I don't," Mick grumbled from the kitchen.

"Did you hear me ask you?" Jax called back, without rancour.

Somehow Mick being Mick warmed Rip's heart as much as anything else had. Favouring his sleeping hand, he started to disentangle himself from Jax. He didn't have the words for what he felt, and he didn't think he ever would, but he was glad that Jax seemed to understand, if not all of it, then at least enough to forgive what should be intolerable advances. Of course, Rip hadn't gone as far with Jax has he had with Sara and Ray. The reminder of that got him the rest of the way up with more alacrity. He barely looked at Mick, who was hunched over his food, but not eating, and almost bumped into a strange woman as he scrambled out of the kitchen.

She started to say something, overrun by Jax calling after him, but Rip didn't stop until he was back in his quarters with the doors closed and locked behind him. He was breathing hard, and had to put his fingers to his pulse and focus on each breath for some minutes until his thoughts stopped spinning. He should go to Sara, apologise; he knew she would forgive him. Like Jax had said, they _all_ wanted to help him, but knowing that just made things worse, and right now he couldn't tell what he'd do. If he talked to Sara now, feeling like his skin had been scrubbed off and every feeling cutting straight to his heart, he didn't know if he'd end up screaming, weeping or having sex with her, or possibly all three at once. The peace he'd felt having woken next to Jax seemed to have vanished completely, and the more time he spent in his quarters, the more his heart rate picked up again. He'd begun to perspire.

"Gideon," he said, after he'd had another glass of supplement-laden water and a protean bar, and that too had failed to calm him.

"Yes, Captain?"

"Tell me who's onboard, and where they're currently located, if you please."

The woman in the kitchen had been called Amaya Jiwe, and she was still there with Mick and Jax, and there was also a Nate Haywood in the command centre. Ray was tinkering with his armour, and Sara was throwing knives again. Martin was in the library. Rip headed there. He realised he was still in his pyjamas when he was half way there, and decided he didn't care.

Martin beamed when he saw Rip hovering in the doorway, his eyes crinkling and his smile taking over his face. "Welcome home, Captain Hunter," he said, with so much sincerity that Rip didn't realise he was about to be hugged until Martin's arms were already wrapped around his shoulders. He stiffened, then allowed himself relax into the embrace, breathing in Martin's aftershave and letting his soft grey hair tickle the side of his face.

He had to swallow a couple times before he could say, "Thank you, Martin. It's good to be back."

"I'm so sorry we..." Martin broke off when Rip's hands tightened convulsively on his shirt. He hesitated a moment before forcing some jocularity into his tone, as he said, "well, never mind. Doubtless you've come to look something up." He drew away, allowing one last pat on Rip's arm, and stepped a respectable distance away.

Rip stood, bereft, not remembering why he'd come for a moment. He'd mostly wanted to hear Martin's voice, but he couldn't say that. "I wanted to find out how things had gone," he said, "While I was... away."

"I see," Martin was looking at him strangely, assessing, and Rip wanted to clarify, but couldn't think of a good reason for asking Martin and not Gideon, but after a moment Martin stepped forward to hook his arm through Rip's and drew him to an obviously favoured chair facing the cluttered work bench. He took the neighbouring chair, sitting close enough that their elbows brushed. "Well, when you scattered us, Jefferson and I landed in the Middle Ages, in Cornwall of all places, which..."

Closing his eyes, Rip leaned slightly into Martin, letting his voice flow over him. He could feel the scratch of Martin's sweater through his sleeve, and the heat of his skin, but mostly that warm, smooth voice soothed him. He would ask Gideon for the actual reports later. Or maybe he could ask her for a recording of Martin's summary, something to play when he was alone. He knew that eventually he was going to have to face his quarters at night.

An indeterminate time later, as Martin was telling him about how he'd had to face down Mick when he'd been turned into a zombie, Jax came in and sat on the other side of Rip, his shoulder also brushing Rip's. Martin's narration didn't pause, and Jax picked up a book on motorcycle repair and appeared to read it as though he were alone in the room, or at least that sitting so intimately with his former captain was totally normal.

On impulse, Rip leaned over and kissed the side of Martin's neck. Martin turned, watching him wide-eye, and Rip realised what he'd done and straitened abruptly, pulling away from Martin and thus bumping into Jax. He wanted to bolt, but Jax held his wrist tightly, as Rip had held Sara's the day before, forbidding him to leave. Moving slowly and deliberately, Jax leaned in and kissed Rip's cheek, his lips just brushing his skin.

"Stay," he said. "Grey's not done his story; are you, Grey? You didn't tell how I met General Grant and saved the Union."

"It was after all Dr. Palmer and my retro-virus that..." and Martin was off again, only now his hand copied Jax's: holding firm to Rip's wrist, and not letting him go.

* * *

Rip left the library hours later, and stood in the corridor for some minutes not knowing where to turn. Finally he went back to his quarters, staying only long enough to change into trousers, a t-shirt and boots before beginning a methodical tour of the _Waverider_ , not quite knowing what he was looking for, or if he was looking for anything at all. Moving seemed to keep the anxiety at bay. If he was moving, he couldn't be on that ship, and this couldn't be a dream. At the same time he knew he was wearing himself too thin. Gideon finally told him that he needed to eat, so he went to the kitchen and found that the new kid, whose name he didn't remember and didn't want to ask after, had made chicken soup and biscuits. It was some kind of 20th-century American comfort food, Rip thought. He ate all he could and started moving again. Sara had gone to bed, and was easy to avoid, and the others had so far let him be, apparently sensing his mood, though Jax touched him casually (a hand on the small of his back, a bump of shoulders) every time they crossed paths. Rip started avoiding the library.

He was back in the cargo bay, winding through the section that Mick had carved off as his lair. He was in the middle of circling back out again, realising that he looked like he was pacing his cage, not knowing how to stop, when Mick said, "It ain't changed since the last five times you were in here."

Rip stopped, turned, looked at Mick, who was sprawled in his chair, holding a mostly-empty bottle of beer. Three empties sat at his feet, and he had the balance of the dozen in a cooler beside. "I..." Rip swallowed, licked his lips. "I realise that. Thank you, Mr. Rory."

Mick didn't say anything to that, just watched Rip for a minute, one of six variations of the same assessing look Rip had been getting from everyone, then finished his beer, setting it in the row, and flipping the cap off the next. He held it up, a wordless offer, and Rip shook his head. He was bad enough without drinking. Or maybe he should be drinking more, though he knew neither Gideon nor Sara would like that. Mick shrugged and took a swig. Rip turned away again, thinking of another loop of the ship, but before he could go Mick's rough voice brought him up short, "So, Hunter, what's your plan?"

Unable to turn back as that would mean meeting Mick's eyes, Rip stared at the door. "For what?"

"Ha." The sound Mick made wasn't a laugh so much as a statement of how little he thought of that answer. "Pick something," Mick said. "How about the next hour, the next day, the next week? You just going to keep running around the ship like a rat?"

Rip shook his head. Faced with it head on, he felt his throat close. Obviously, he didn't know, and the idea of this constant itching restlessness lasting long enough to have to _plan_ was only marginally more palatable than realising this was all a hallucination, and he'd never left his cell.

"Thought so," Mick said, when it became obviously that Rip would neither answer, nor leave. "Sure you don't want a beer?"

"Not all of us can afford to deal our problems by drowning them," Rip said, knowing it was stupid the moment it left his lips. He turned, and sure enough Mick was smirking up at him. "I tried that, after... after Miranda and Jonas. It only made things worse."

Mick grunted, taking that that in. He tugged at his gloves, one after the other, then looked back up at Rip, who felt frozen in place. "You thinking to use Jackson as a pillow every night?"

"No, obviously not," Rip snapped back. He'd said it instinctively, but when he thought it over, nothing changed. He couldn't impose on Jax, or on anyone else, no matter what they said. For the first time, he started to realise that if he didn't pull together soon, he'd be slowing this crew down far more than he could hope to help it, and the thought of having to leave, even if it was for the sake of his family here and history itself put his heart back into his throat.

"You're a mess, Rip," Mick observed, and it sounded less accusatory than Rip thought it should.

That of all things made him choke, and he had to take a few breaths before he could say, "Clearly." He hated that Mick Rory of all people could see right through him. "I suppose you have a _brilliant_ suggestion for self improvement. One you have failed to implement yourself, but think would work swimmingly for me. Do go on. I eagerly await your advice." Half of him felt bad for letting go at Mick, who was, possibly, trying to help, and the other half revelled in being angry. He'd wanted the excuse to yell, or possibly to scream. Ironically, he'd never in his life empathised with Mick's pyromania more than he did right then. Setting something on fire sounded like a damn fine idea.

Certainly shouting had had more or less no effect on Mick, who was watching Rip with the exact weighing expression he'd worn for the whole conversation. Finally he nodded slightly, and said, "Given you asked, I've always figured you do what you have to survive, and not waste time feeling bad about crap you can't do anything about." After another swig of beer, he added, "And don't yell at your friends. It pisses them off."

"Yes, well," Rip said in lieu of anything meaningful. The adrenaline rise and flash of temper had crashed as quickly as it built, leaving him remembering that Mick had been tortured by his own people, _twice_ , and had come out of it more or less the same man. He had, in fact, handled the whole matter rather better than Rip so far had, or at least with more violence and alcohol, and less moping. "Keeping in friends has never been a strong suit of mine," he admitted. "I suppose, Mr. Rory, that we're a little alike in that."

"Mmmm..." was all Mick said in reply, though it sounded like it might have been agreement.

Rip sighed. With the anger gone and frankly now tinged with more guilt, depression and fatigue had flooded back. He wanted to keep pacing, just walk until he physically had to sleep, but for all his weariness now, he didn't think it would be enough. He'd still close his eyes and not know if he'd be able to open them and see anything but the dark. "I don't have a plan," he said, finally answering Mick's initial question. He was stumbling already, just standing still. "I don't know what to do, Mick."

The chair creaked as Mick stood, and Rip watched him without reacting. He'd always kept a weary eye on where Mick was. He was a big man, prone to violence and and not predictable even to those few he trusted, and Rip had never liked to have him at his back. Now he didn't react Mick put his arm around Rip's shoulders in what might have been a sideways hug but felt more like a yoke. "Come on," Mick growled, and Rip didn't ask where, just let himself be led. Only when they got to Mick's quarters, the nearest to the cargo bay, did he open his mouth, but Mick shushed him until the door closed behind them.

"Sometimes," Mick said, "a man spends enough time with nothing to look at but the inside of his skull that he gets stuck there."

"It's not an inapt comparison," Rip admitted.

"Sometimes it takes someone else to shake him loose." The were standing at arm's length now, Rip with his back to the door, and Mick again fiddling with his gloves, shifting his weight, and for the first time looking perhaps a little unsure.

"I've tried that too," Rip said. "It didn't make things better." It had though, at least for a while. For a while, Rip had forgotten.

Mick growled and started reach for the door, and again Rip felt his perception shift. He was being offered something here, and the truth was that he wanted it. He stepped towards Mick, and touched the side of his face with the tips of his fingers. Mick's skin was rough with stubble, and this close his breath smelled of beer. (Rip suddenly thought of Jonah, stumbling home with their arms around each other's shoulders, Rip trying to explain that two moons was an entirely plausible astronomical phenomenon.) He'd half expected Mick to flinch, but he stood absolutely still as Rip's touch turned into a caress across the plane of his cheek and down along his jawline.

"May I kiss you?" Rip asked, which made Mick snort and ask why the hell he thought they were there, so Rip kissed him, first the corner of his mouth, then his lips. Their noses bumped, and Mick took his face between his gloved hands and tilted it so that they fit together. A step back, and he had Rip pressed against the door, the weight of his body holding Rip immobile as he deepened the kiss. Mick pushed against Rip until he gasped, then licked his mouth and bumped their teeth together until he had the angle right. He was kissing Rip sloppily, trying to get as much contact as he could, hold him as hard as he could, and Rip could do nothing but clutch his shoulders and hold on for the ride. He hadn't thought of Mick as being much for preliminaries, but he seemed pretty happy standing against the door, kissing Rip first deeply then more tentatively, then hard again, until Rip slumped back and closed his eyes.

Mick's teeth dragged over Rip's lower lip as he pulled away. "Don't go to sleep on me yet, Hunter." He pulled Rip's t-shirt free and ran his hands up Rip's chest, the seams in the leather dragging across his skin. Rip moaned, or would have, except Mick was kissing him again, his lips, then his cheek above his beard, then down his neck until he'd pulled the shirt over Rip's head and could kiss then nip then kiss Rip's shoulder. Rip tugged at Mick's jacket, but Mick ignored him and started on Rip's belt, then his trousers and pants until he stood with everything around his ankles, hobbled by his boots. Rip kicked them off, the clothes with them.

"I prefer my partners more naked," he said, and Mick tugged his gloves off with his teeth and tossed them aside.

"Happy?" he asked. Again he traced Rip's chest, pausing at the beginning of his ribcage, frowning down, probably at how thin Rip still was, as he traced his bottom ribs with his thumbs before continuing up to take Rip's arms and pull them above his head so that Mick had him pinned to the door with one big hand on his wrists, while the other held Rip's chin keeping him from looking away. "I'm calling the shots," he growled. "Got it?"

Words stuck in Rip's throat, so he nodded, but that seemed like enough because Mick kissed him lightly and squeezed his wrists with a grip a vice would envy before shoving Rip toward the bunk. Rip let himself be pushed, sprawling half across the bed with is back to Mick, intensely aware of his nudity, and in the metaphorical sense as well as the literal. If Mick took it in his head to destroy Rip, he could probably do it right then, irrevocably and in any number of ways. Rip shivered, though the room was warm.

The next thing he heard was the soft thump of clothes hitting the floor, then Mick's belt buckle rattling and the sound of boots being pulled off. Finally, Mick sighed, and asked, "You done this with a guy?"

Rip nodded again. "Not recently," he added. "Before I was married." (Again he thought of Jonah, and how angry he'd been at Rip last time he'd seen him, though Martin said he'd been doing okay last time they'd crossed paths. Rip had never looked up his future. That kind of thing never ended well.)

"Didn't ask for an essay," Mick grumbled. He circled Rips hips with his palms, and Rip half expected to be taken and fucked then and there, but Mick ran his hands up his sides and then back down again, before stepping close so that Rip could feel Mick's cock against his ass. Rip shivered again, and Mick followed the shiver by trailing a finger down his spine. It kept going down, over his tail bone and between his ass cheeks, until the tip stopped on Rip's hole. It pushed, too lightly to enter Rip, but hard enough for Rip to know that Mick could, and would. He could do anything he liked to Rip, and Rip wouldn't be likely to stop him, not with Mick's other hand planted firmly in the middle of his back, pinning him to the bunk. Mick growled, and nudged Rip's legs further apart, until they were spread uncomfortably wide, and he had to balance on the balls of his feet. "Stay there," Mick said, and patted Rip's ass proprietarily.

It wasn't a position he could hold for long, not without slumping forward into the bunk, or closing his legs, and already Rip's thigh muscles were shaking, but he stayed where he was. His face was pressed into the blankets, and his cock, now hard, caught an odd angle against the side of the bunk. He shifted his hips to try to free it, and Mick's slapped his ass, not hard, but enough to shock Rip into stillness.

"Stay," Mick said. Rip heard a chair scoot across the floor and guessed Mick must have settled onto it, because the angle changed when he pulled Rip's cheeks apart. He made a point of trailing his fingers all the way down again, and of circling Rip's hole. Rip couldn't help flexing his ass muscles, even knowing how it must look, and Mick chuckled. He reached between Rip's legs and squeezed his balls, rolling the sacks across his palm. It was only just rough enough to hurt, but Rip moaned and again tried to shift his weight, only to find his legs spread too wide to do anything, even as Mick's hand closed around his cock and squeezed until Rip stopped breathing entirely. He felt every the whole world come down to the fingers wrapped around him and the hand on his ass and the thumbnail resting against his hole. "Breathe," Mick told him, and he did again, shallowly and too fast. Mick pulled his cock free of the edge of the bed, squeezing it again lightly, before letting go. 

Rip was so hard he could barely think. He wanted Mick to keep touching him, but he couldn't put words to the desire. He whimpered again, then cried out hoarsely as Mick finally pushed his fingers into him. They were slick and entered Rip easily even as Rip flexed around them, instinctively pressing down and out. Mick growled and smacked has ass again, a little harder this time, and kept pushing into him, two fingers at once ignoring how Rip wriggled under him. He ignored Rip's prostate, but sank his fingers to the knuckles and rested them there until Rip's breathing steadied.

He had to make himself slow down so that Mick would move, but his legs were shaking now, and Mick showed no sign of doing anything other than taking his time. Mick drew his fingers out again, slowly, and lightly pressed Rip's prostate on the way by, only to hook them just inside Rip's hole and push back in with his knuckles curled. The backs of his nails rubbed Rip this time, and he moaned into the blanket, feeling as though he were going to shake apart. He was more than ready; his whole body seemed to strain for more contact, more pressure, more sensation. Yet bloody Mick Rory would not relent. He rolled his knuckles then spread his fingers then pumped them in and out and in and out until Rip was near tears.

"What do you want?" Mick asked, finally, voice rough as gravel.

"Oh for the love of God," Rip snapped, which just made Mick laugh.

Mick pulled out of Rip, and slid his hands down to grip his thighs. Then he lifted, easily pulling Rip up onto the bed so that he was keeling on wide-spread legs, his ass pointed right up at Mick, and his face still buried in the blankets. He heard the crinkle of foil before Mick's cock entered him.

"Breathe," Mick said again, so Rip focused on that. Mick's cock felt like it took up his whole body, and each inhale ended in it, and each exhale tightened around it, but if he breathed, he wouldn't cry out, at least not until Mick stood with his hips flat against Rip's ass, his hands so tight on Rip's hips that he knew they would bruise. There Mick stopped, and Rip had to sob once before he pulled himself together. The delays, the careful control Mick held over him had peeled away every vestige of restraint, one onion-skin layer at a time, until all Rip could do was feel Mick's body against his, feel and crave more. 

Pulling out to the head and then stopping again finally got a plea out of Rip, and saying it once opened a floodgate of begging mixed with imprecations as Mick slowly and deliberately fucked Rip into the bunk. He could have timed his thrusts on a metronome, and each one dragged over Rip's prostate, making him harder than he thought was possible. He could feel his pulse pounding through his cock, rapid painful beats, out of sync with Mick's thrusts even as he sped up, and he gritted his teeth, falling silent as he tried to hold on. Mick was grunting low in his throat, almost vibrating, each time he pushed into Rip, and Rip knew that all he had to do was hold on a little longer. Surely Mick couldn't last, and Rip could hold onto this last bizarre and arbitrary scrap of pride.

Mick reached between them, took Rip's cock, and stroked once from root to head. Rip came instantly, shuddering through the release, face buried in the mattress so that Mick wouldn't see the tears. When Mick squeezed, just matching a stroke into Rip, Rip jerked and tried to come again. His cock ached and his whole skin felt like it was on fire, but that itself oddly didn't hurt. He felt his heart pounding frantically, and now it did feel like Mick pushed into him with every jagged breath, so that his whole body was in tune with Mick, and what Mick wanted.

Rip lay still, or tried to–his hands still gripped at the mattress convulsively, and his breath still shook–and and let himself be rocked back and forth as Mick fucked him. Mick was moving more sharply, and his fingers dug into Rip's hips, his nails not quite breaking the skin. His panting breaths and Rip's, and his grunts of pleasure filled the room, seeming loud enough for the whole ship to overhear. Words mixed in, and Rip was surprised when he heard his name, along with things like, "Yeah," and "Good." It made Rip try to push back against Mick as he thrust, try to spread his legs wider, to do anything to show Mick what he wanted.

"Fuck," Mick hissed, and froze. Rip felt Mick's body against his, the tremor running through it, and then the release, and in a way it felt like another release for himself. He slumped against the bed as Mick fell forward and rested his sweaty brow on Rip's back. He stayed, not moving or speaking until he caught his breath, then he patted Rip's ass lightly and pulled out. "You want the shower first?" he asked.

"I've decided never to move again," Rip replied, though he wasn't sure if Mick heard, as Rip's face was still buried in the mattress. He thought the sentiment got across, at least.

Rip heard the shower click on a moment later. He felt the same drifting feeling as he had since he'd woken up, like he was looking down at himself, while still being in his own skin, but it didn't have the anxiety that had been tied to it before. He didn't know what he felt now, maybe nothing, which would in and of itself be an improvement. Rip flopped on his side and kicked at the covers enough to get the blanket on top of him, then curled with his back to the wall. 

When Mick came back not long after, unselfconsciously naked, water still gleaming across his terrible scars, Rip said, "I can go, or..." He wasn't actually sure that he could go, but he could hardly take over the man's room.

"Never mind," Mick said. He finished towelling off, and Rip couldn't drag his eyes away. Somehow he'd seen just about everyone on the _Waverider_ in one state of dishabille or another in their year working together, but he'd never seen Mick's scars past the wrists. He saw Rip looking and raised his eyebrows, simultaneously inviting and dismissing comment, before pulling the blanket up and sliding onto the narrow bunk beside Rip. "You got to..." he started, but Rip was already rolling over to face the wall, letting Mick spoon against him, his big, scarred arms encircling Rip.

Rip again didn't know what to say, thanking Mick seemed both crass and inadequate, not to mention unwelcome, and he had no idea what kind of pillow talk the man might like. He suspected appreciative silence might be best received. He wiggled a bit to snug back into Mick's grip, and Mick again surprised him by kissing his shoulder.

"Go to sleep," he said, so Rip did.

* * *

He woke before Mick did, and again lay still for a long time just listening to Mick breath, and feeling their bodies together. He ran his fingertips lightly up Mick's arm, too lightly to be felt though the scarring, and wondered what this all meant. He felt too drifty to come to any conclusions, save that, firstly, he'd had sex with more people in the last two days than he had in the rest of his life combined, and, secondly, that if staying here forever–safe and warm and held–were an option, he'd take it.

He felt the moment Mick woke, a small start, the tightening of his arms around Rip, then a sigh so slight that Rip would not have heard it had their bodies not been pressed together. Then Mick ruffled Rip's hair, and relaxed again.

"Good morning," Rip said cautiously.

"Mmmm," Mick said, but it sounded positive. He finished playing with Rip's hair, and stroked down his ribs and over his hips, resting on the bone. "You need to eat more."

Rip reflected that the ship's criminal had just bedded, slept with and petted him, and was now talking about feeding him. If he wasn't careful, he'd be renamed George shortly. "I'm trying," he said. It could be his motto right now: To Try Is To Fail.

As if he could sense Rip's thoughts, Mick said, "You've been out for two days. You're going to feel like crap no matter what you do."

He supposed he was getting the collected wisdom of a prison veratrine, and he should listen, but all he could think of was how he'd ended up making things worse. "I slept with Sara," he admitted. Among others, but Sara was the one he was worried about, the one who had to be avoiding him as much as he was avoiding her. He wasn't sure why he was telling Mick, of all people, save that lying in the dark, with his forehead just touching the wall, felt safe and anonymous,.

Mick laughed. "Good for you."

"No, I don't know if she wanted... I might have..."

"Hunter, if Blondie didn't want to do _anything_ with you, you'd be bleeding on the floor." Rip could still hear the laugh in Mick's voice, and was pretty sure he was being patronised, or maybe he'd just been stupid in the first place. "Take the pity fuck, and move on." Having dispensed that advice, Mick pulled free and rolled to his feet. "Shower's yours."

Rip rolled to his back to watch Mick dress, then, when Mick was gone, got up himself. Even after showering, he could smell Mick on him, and his body was pleasantly sore from the long, slow screw.

It only occurred to him after he'd dressed that Mick may have meant himself and not Sara in regards to the pity fuck. It probably wasn't bad advice in either case. Rip decided that today he was going to stop avoiding Sara.

* * *

Sara was rapidly running out of ways to inconspicuously hide. Granted, most of the crew left her alone anyway, especially when she was throwing knives, but only Rip, obviously not even wanting to look at her, had kept clear entirely. However, she was going to have to talk to him, and soon. Once he'd sorted his head out a bit, if he actually could, he was going to want to be captain again, and Sara was going to have to work out what to say to that.

She'd never asked for the position, had gotten by being the least unqualified person in the room, really, but over the past few months she'd found that she'd gotten to then appreciate the challenge. She didn't know how the crew would fit together with all the changes, and she didn't think Rip did either, though he seemed to be circulating and talking to people, which was more than Sara could say.

Also, she didn't lack quite enough self-awareness to pretend that there wasn't a bigger reason for not talking to Rip, and for his avoidance of her. They both knew that she had clearly taken advantage of a wounded crewmate, no matter who had kissed whom first, and that there would have to be consequences. She should have cowgirled up on the day after, but Rip had still seemed so fragile, and Sara wanted to hurt him even less than she wanted to leave the _Waverider_. She'd told herself then that she'd wait for him to come to her, that when he did he would be ready, and even if she were not, she'd suck it up and deal. Until then, she'd give him space.

She was currently lying on the bridge between the pilot's consul and the forward windows, staring up at the swirl of space-time around the ship. They'd been holed up here since they'd rescued Rip, and they probably didn't have a lot of time until the next fire needed putting out. They were lucky to have gotten this much of a reprieve.

Sara's own limbo came to an end with Rip's entrance. He didn't see her at first, but was obviously looking for someone when he came through the door, scanning the room until he found her. She pushed up to sit cross legged with her back to the windows.

"Miss Lance," he said, closing the distance, "I believe it's time we talked."

He was looking down at her, and she stood to face him. He was still too thin and the short hair didn't really suit him, but she wanted to run her hand through it anyway. "Yeah, I know. You better go first," she said, because she really had no idea where to start.

Rip grimaced, clearly having wanted her to break the ice. "From what the others say, you've been a credit to this ship since you took command."

Sara folded her arms. "But?"

"No, no, I mean that," Rip continued. "I want you to stay on as captain. We can work it out later, but I don't think," he hesitated, rubbing a hand over his beard. "I don't think I'm fit for missions, let alone for command, not yet. I don't know when I will be. I know it's no small thing, to carry the weight of this ship and all the souls aboard her, but if you would..."

"Oh, Rip." Sara wanted to hug him, had to ball her hands into fists under her arms to stop herself. He'd spent all that time alone because she hadn't even tried to find him, and now he was trusting her with all their lives. "Of course I will. Anything to help you." She'd said that before, and then...

Rip was obviously thinking the same thing, because his shoulders twitched up and he looked away. "Yes, well," he said, and cleared his throat. "That was the other matter."

"I'm so, so sorry, Rip," Sara blurted, all her intentions of letting him talk first vanishing. "I just, it seemed like you wanted, but I should never have, not when you..." Tears started to choke her, which was probably a mercy, because she knew she wasn't making sense.

And Rip, damn him, was smiling at her. He looked like he might even laugh. "Sara, I did want it," he told her. "My only concern was that you felt an obligation, before hand, and I... well Mr. Rory called it a pity fuck, I believe."

"Ha." Sara did not want to contemplate the fact that Rip had apparently gone to Mick Rory for relationship advice, but nonetheless felt a weight lifted off her. "Never pity, Rip."

"I probably deserved some," he said, still smiling. He touched her elbow, just lightly, but she could feel how cool his hands were even through her shirt. "You won't believe how much I missed all of you."

No, even after two long runs with the League, Sara couldn't imagine the loneliness of all those months trapped in a tiny cell in the dark, believing his only friends were either dead or had given up on him. It was too late now though. Even a time ship couldn't erase what had happened to Rip, and his hand was _so cold_. Sara unfolded her arms and pulled Rip into a hug. Her fingers ran up his neck into his hair, while her other arm curled tightly around his waist. "We missed you too," she said, her face against his neck. She had to stand on her toes, at first, but he returned the embrace, pulling her up against him with what felt like all the strength he had. He kissed her hair and his breath hitched a couple of times. His body was warmer, even through enough layers to make him look like Ragman, "In the shower," she asked, "you really wanted us?"

"More than anything." Rip's words were almost a sigh, his breath puffing against her ear. "I still do. I can't seem to stop needing you."

Sara kissed his neck, and Rip shivered under her touch. "I know how you feel," she whispered. Then she pulled away enough to look at him. His expression was sharper than it had been before, and maybe the turn of his mouth was guilt, but his eyes were fixed on hers, and she could feel his heart rate picking up. He did want her, and she knew what she wanted too. She kissed him, her fingers digging into the back of his neck as her mouth moved over his. He kissed back eagerly, as though he were trying to swallow her. Their teeth knocked, and his ridiculous nose keep bumping her cheek, but oh it felt good to taste him, to run her tongue along his lip, then touch his. Sara could feel how much he wanted her as his hands first fisted her shirt, then pulled it up so they could run up and down her back. He dragged his knuckles down her spine, and she wriggled to get closer, clutching at his shirt and kissing him hard.

He tried to unclip her bra with one hand, then had to work the hooks with both, but the strap finally came loose so that he could stroke the full length of her back. His fingers dipped under her belt, but not far enough. Sara wanted to jump up and wrap her legs around him so that she could grind against him while he held her fast with both hands squeezing her ass, but that would probably knock him flat over.

"Gideon," she said, "seal all the doors into the command centre." She waited for Gideon's acknowledgement before she pulled her shirt off and shrugged out of her bra. "Unless you want to find a bed," she said.

Rip had seen her naked even before the shower, but he was staring at her wide-eyed now, and touched her breasts almost tentatively. His hands had warmed against her back, but Sara felt her nipples harden and arched her back to push into his hands. "Yeah," she said, and started to tug at his shirts. He raised his arms to let her pull them off. As soon as they were both topless, Sara stepped in to rub her breasts against his chest and kiss him again. His sparse chest hair tickled her, and she laughed against his mouth. Sara could feel him smiling in return, and also tugging at her belt, then the fastening of her jeans. "Boots," she muttered.

"I've got it," he told her. "Sit down." He guided her into the pilot's seat, and turned it away from the from the consul. He knelt and unlaced her boots and pulled off her socks. His hands stroked her feet then massaged the arches, and Sara sighed. She laughed when his kissed her ankles, his beard tickling her, and spread her legs as he leaned in. He kissed her calves, then both knees, and his hands slid up her legs behind his kisses.

Sara's hips rolled in anticipation. She'd sealed the doors herself, but still sitting in the pilots chair, with the captain about to eat out made her want to keep glancing over her shoulder. She made herself focus on Rip's head, now inches from her cunt, and how his big hands spread across her thighs, his thumbs digging into the muscles as they flexed under him. He licked from her entrance all the way up to her belly button, and Sara gritted her teeth and gripped the arm rests. He nosed her folds apart, and this time when he licked, he crossed her clit and made her gasp. "Oh, yeah," she moaned. "Again."

She felt his breath huff out in a laugh, but he licked again, his tongue curling as it rolled over, sending shots of heat through her body. Sara felt the chair creak, and realised she was white-knuckling the arms. She forced herself to relax, but just as she did, Rip's mouth covered her clit and sucked at the same time as he pressed two fingers into her, and Sara arched against him and screamed. Her hand came down on the back of his head, and she pulled him against her, wanting more, faster, now. His mouth played over her, sucking and licking, edging her towards climax then slowing down into kisses across her thighs, while the pad of this thumb swept over her clit, and his finger curled inside her. 

"Stop fucking around, Rip," she gasped when he pulled his hand away, but his mouth returned then, building the heat inside her. His moustache feathered over her clit, and his tongue circled her entrance, and again Sara moaned. "Rip, come on." It'd take a little more to bring her over, something intense, almost painful, sharper than the little bite marks he was putting along the inside of her thighs. His slicked fingers traced circles across her stomach and she grabbed his hand and squeezed hard. Her centre pulsed of its own accord, clenching around something that wasn't filling her.

"Tell me," Rip said. His beard gleamed and he looked up at her with dark, pleading eyes. "What do you need."

"Harder," Sara answered. "Come on." Her fingers curled over his.

Rip bent his head again, licking her carefully until her folds were spread wide, and Sara could feel her thighs starting to shake. He entered her with his fingers at the same time as he sucked at her clit again, this time pulling it over his teeth and humming. She thrashed in the chair, breathing in small gasps as he his tongue circled over her, hard and fast, and his hand turned to squeeze hers. His grip was like a vice, and his teeth nicked her clit just his fingers pushed into her all the way to the third knuckles, she was so wet and perfect that she groaned and fell apart under his touch. He kept rolling his tongue across her, each time sending another spike of pleasure through her. Her breasts felt heavy and tight, and sudden his beard was sandpapery against her thighs. She squeezed her legs shut, and he pulled away until he could rest his head on her lap while she stroked his hair.

When Sara caught her breath, she said, "Swap places? I wanna go for a ride."

They were both wobbly, her in the afterglow, and him from holding himself back. His cock was already hard, and she had to be careful when she pulled his trousers down over it. She didn't bother taking them off, just pushed him into the pilot's chair and climbed astride. "Are..." Rip started to ask, but Sara slid down onto him until his cock was buried inside her. "Ah."

"That's better," Sara said, and blew her hair out of her face. She put her hands on his shoulders to steady herself as she rode up. The motion got her a sigh, and a face pressed between hear breasts as they lifted past him. She sank down again, breathing with her movements, enjoying how easy this was. It felt good having him in her, and nuzzling her breasts, his hands warm on her hips, and her body was still humming from her own orgasm, making each little pleasure take wing until Sara felt as though she could fly.

Under her, Rip was biting his lip and trying to hold on a little longer. Filled with intense and generous affection, Sara bent and kissed his nose, then his lip where his teeth caught it. Her hips moved as though by themselves now, slow easy rolls, and she moved her lips to the same time. She kissed him lightly then pulled away, letting his mouth seek hers. Sometimes she let him have the kiss, and sometimes she arched her back and let him kiss her breasts or suck her nipples instead. "God, Rip," she murmured as he sucked harder, and she rolled down.

His hips had started to jerk under her, but she kept her pace steady, no matter how hard his hold on her hips grew, or how his kisses had disintegrated into little whimpers against her shoulder. She remembered how he'd begged in the shower and slowed her movements until she hovered with just the tip of his cock inside her. He tried to buck up, but she flexed her thighs to rise above him. She held her breath as her muscles shook, but he didn't last half as long. "Sara, Sara, please, I can't..."

Sara didn't let him finish, but rode all the way down, and kissed him as he came. Rip's eyes stayed fixed on her, like he was trying to memorise her face even as pleasure overtook him. His hands stroked up and down her back, soothing himself as much as her. Sara settled on top of him, flexing around him as he came and resting her forehead against his.

They were both soaked with perspiration, rapidly cooling in the dry air of the command centre, but Sara didn't feel like moving. She pulled Rip forward so that his head was cradled on her chest, with his ear to her heart, and held him there until they were both breathing easily again.

"You doing okay?" she asked.

"I hardly know what to say," Rip answered, looking up at her with such affection that she had to kiss him again. "I don't believe that 'okay' begins to describe it."

Sara rolled her head back, shaking her hair off her shoulders. "I like to leave 'em speechless," she said, and they both laughed. She slid off up him and pulled him to his feet after her. His foot caught in his trousers, and he teetered until she steadied him against her. "Easy there," she told him.

"I can't seem to sleep alone." Rip was speaking more to the wall than her, but Sara knew that it was something he'd been trying to say for days. "I can't remember that I'm here, that you're all here. I think that place might have driven me mad."

"It probably did," she admitted. "At least a bit." Sara had been trying to think what to do for days. It wasn't like there was a therapist equipped to deal with Time Masters, at least not since they'd mostly blown up the Time Masters, but she wasn't sure the crew of the _Waverider_ was the least equipped to deal with months of trauma. Perhaps a trip to the Refuge was in order, if it was still there. "For now, don't sleep alone."

Rip stepped back, bending as much to avoid her eyes as to refasten his trousers. "I can hardly..."

"Sure you can," Sara said, knowing it was true. "With me or with Jax or Martin or Ray. Even Mick. Until you're feeling better."

"However long that is," he said bitterly.

"However long that is," Sara agreed. She was standing stark naked in the middle of the command centre, her clothes strewn around her, wet from sex and exertion, but she'd never felt as confident, as sure. "We'll help each other, Rip. We always do."


End file.
